The thing about Philadelphia

I hate being a tourist.

I love seeing new things while traveling, "touring," for lack of a better word, but I hate being a tourist. However, this weekend in Philly I devoted myself to doing just that:

Being a tourist.

Standing in overcrowded lines, sitting in mind-numbing traffic, wading through massive tourist groups of Japanese teenagers...That sort of thing.

You cannot go to Philadelphia and not see Independence Hall, The Liberty Bell and the historic district. Or at least that's what I thought. The Bell is big and historically significant, but certainly nothing to get your panties in a pinch over. After a two-hour wait (partially in the rain) to obtain tickets to Independence Hall, I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that many guests bypassed the ticket line and were still allowed entry since no one was checking tickets. The guided tour was interesting, but I was kinda irked to hear,

"The only thing original in this whole building is that chair."

A CHAIR?

I just got tickets and waited for two hours while ticketless people cut ahead of me in line to see where the Declaration of Independence was supposedly painstakingly drafted in the suffocating heat of the 1776 Philadelphia summer and the only original thing you've got to show me is

A CHAIR???

Sure, it's a chair where George Washington and Ben Franklin sat now and again, but really? I could have watched National Treasure and gotten the gist of the place.

The building has been "historically renovated" to restore it to its "original splendor," but there's just nothing that original about renovation. I should give them credit for not charging for entrance, but it's still a big hassle getting in the place, even in off-peak season.

I realize it's a lot to ask that 200-year-old furnishings and artifacts are maintained, but the Colosseum has a higher percentage of original materials and I'm pretty confident it's more than 200 years old.

Okay, enough complaints about the chair. I probably could have avoided the debacle all together if I would have seen Jen14221's Philly tips on twitter, but I missed out. Maybe next time. On to the highlights instead...

The Philadelphia Cheesesteaks were good, my friend Christina took us to the original place, Pat's King of Steaks. I ordered it "wit" and with provolone, which in retrospect I realize was a mistake. Cheez-whiz is the only way to go.

The Eastern State Penitentiary is also well worth a visit. During October evenings it turns into a ridiculously popular haunted house, but with ticket prices starting at $20, it's worth seeing the place during daylight hours. I assure you, it can be equally creepy. The ESP is one of the world's first penitenitaries, with an estimated 500 other prisons in the world based on its model. It's creepy, decrepit, interesting, authentic and home to Al Capone's former jail cell.

My advice? When in Philly, skip the chair, go to prison.

The thing about gas prices

This weekend I went on a little road trip to Philadelphia. I had mistakenly fallen under the impression that gas was exorbitantly expensive all over the country, but it turns out it's just the state of New York.

The moment we crossed the state line into Pennsylvania, the prices started plummeting. When we left Buffalo on Thursday we paid somewhere in the neighborhood of $3.45 and by the time we settled in in Philadelphia we were seeing $2.70 and lower! It's amazing what crossing the state line can do. I had heard rumors of the elusive $2.00/gal, but now it seems it's even making a comeback on the East Coast!

Fortunately once we returned, prices have gotten a little kinder. Today I saw $2.99 just up the street from my house. $2.99! I never thought I would be so excited to see prices so low. To be fair, the average local price in Buffalo is still $3.12, but the City of Brotherly Love is seeing $2.47 and the nationwide average is at $2.58...

The Gas Map, courtesy of BuffaloGasPrices.com, indicates the average price in each county via gradients of colors. Green is good. Red is Bad. You'll notice a nasty red blotch where I'm living. Even New York City, our downstate neighborhood to the east, shows minimal redness. Kansas, my former home, has a nice, friendly green hue to it.




So why are Buffalo's gas prices still $0.54 above the national average? Don't just say taxes. I'm sure you can come up with something more creative than that.

The thing about the weather

My blog is called The Lake Effect Affect, so it's important that I finally note its origins for those not from the Buffalo area.

Lake Effect refers to snow or rain created when cold arctic winds meet warm air over lakes and dump a distinctive snow (or rain), on lee shores. That's lee shores. So there you have it.

Oh wait, you don't know what the heck 'lee shores' are? You've totally been slacking on your kayaking jargon. I'm from Kansas, you have no excuse. If you're really interested in lee shores, See wikipedia entry. It's not really important, the exact definition, except to say that Buffalo is situated on the LEE SHORES of Lake Erie, fashioning the stereotype that Buffalo is constantly inundated with snow.

Well. I haven't survived the winter yet, so I can't tell you if that's true or not. I can tell you, however, if this is any sign of what is to come:

Today we had our first snow flurries. October 21st.

So today, the Lake Effect Affect is cold---and just a little bit worr---err, excited about what's to come.


p.s. if you haven't watched the video in the last post, I promise it will make you laugh. I dare you to get up and dance with her.

The thing about 1992

I just saw an eloquent, to-the-point video on Coffee and Grilled Cheese. Props for the post. Hilarious.

Vote, baby, vote! Are you registered, baby?

Thanks to MTV, 1992 and Deee-Lite for said video.

The thing about pleather

This just in: Sarah Palin speaks at Colorado rally.
I couldn't help but be distracted by what she was wearing.


We all know how it turned out the last time we saw someone with an outfit like that:


...

The thing about lobsters

As I pulled in to Wegman's Friday, I saw a giant sign where they normally boast their ridiculously large beer selection.

$6.99/lb. Live Lobster Sale! Fresh from Maine!

I can count on two hands how many times I've eaten lobster in my life, likely due to its cost-restrictive tendencies, but this is neither here nor there. I remember the experiences being near celestial.

After a quick cell phone call to my mother to inquire about what's involved in cooking live lobster, which seemed inhumane at best, it seemed I had no choice but to splurge.

"$6.99?!?! That's amazing," my mom said. "I've never seen anything cheaper than $10.99. Buy! Buy!" We are from The Most Landlocked State Known To Man, however. I'm sure $10.99 is a wicked deal in Kansas.

I ended up getting two - with taxes about $16.00. Pretty good for fresh Maine lobster, I understand. I've got to admit, I felt entirely awkward and cruel carrying live food around in a bag. The seafood man reassured me they would not escape in my fridge, but I kept checking on them all afternoon.

They looked at me with those bulgy, opaque lobster eyes. Complete disdain. My guilt was palpable, even as I googled the best cooking method. Another moment of reassurance came when I discovered that lobsters, like insects, supposedly don't have a nervous system so they can't detect pain. I guess when I slowly steam or boil their little butts to death, this should make me feel better. I don't know if this is true. Someone find out and tell me for next time.

I opted for steaming and felt bad about it until I started eating.

Lobster. Yum. I hope they can't feel pain or experience grocery bag trauma.

The thing about wings

With all the non-stop chatter about American politics and the world economic melt down, I think some lighter, spicier fare is in order.

Buffalo Wings.

It's important to note, in Buffalo no one calls them "Buffalo Wings." Here, they're simply known as 'wings.' I suppose it's like going to Chicago and asking for a "Chicago Hot Dog" or to Philadelphia and ordering a "Philadelphia Cheese Steak." You just don't do it.

As the birthplace of the chicken wing, Buffalo has a slew of restaurants claiming to have the best wings in the city.

To be honest, I really never liked chicken wings prior to moving to Buffalo. Once you move here, however, you embrace drinking Canadian beer and watching hockey and then wings just come with the territory.

Without further ado, an amateur's guide to Buffalo's chicken wings.

The Anchor Bar: With their tell-tale state license plates lining the wall, this is supposedly where it all started. Tourists to Niagara Falls list it on their must-sees right after The Maid of The Mist. It's a little pricey compared to other wing dives, but it is "the original." I liked these wings, but popular Buffalonian opinion indicates it's not the favorite. I went for the medium and it was fairly mild. They won't let you mix and match your flavors for free, so expect to pay if you want to sample the various 'heats.'

Duff's: It actually burns when you walk through the door. The first breath in and you're already feeling the burn. Staffed with dozens of cute UB undergrads, this place gets points for character. In full disclosure, it's more of a dive than The Anchor Bar, but I suppose most people consuming food entirely with their hands aren't too picky, right?

Their claim to fame is "our medium is hot..." This is a slogan that should be taken more as a warning than with a grain of salt. After The Anchor Bar, I mistakenly ignored this fact and went for the medium. I regretted it not only during the meal, but the next day too. Duff's is nice because they offer package deals with a pitcher of pop or beer and french fries. They also allow you to choose how many of each flavor of wings you want. Want to try a suicidal, 5 mediums and 4 milds? No extra charge. Nice.

Gabriel's Gate: Buffalo Spree (see previous post) named Gabriel's Gate the best place for wings so we had to try them. Their medium was a comfortable medium and the prices are reasonable. They charge a few bucks if you want to customize your order. I can't say they were my favorite, that honor goes to Duff's, but the taxonomy decor, crazy late hours and authentic Buffalo feel makes Gabriel's Gate a close runner-up.

The thing about Iran

My friend from Iran came to visit this weekend.

You can stop furrowing those eyebrows now.

Rife with politically incorrect jokes about the "Axis of Evil," he spent the weekend on the futon and caught me up on the life of an Iranian ex-pat turned American college co-ed. His father served as an Iranian diplomat throughout most of his life, meaning my friend grew up in Oman, India, Sri Lanka, Algeria and of course, Iran.

The various stints in other countries and an American undergraduate experience have given him a unique perspective, indeed. His parents have returned to Iran, but both his sister and brother are studying and working in the United States. He craves The Colbert Report, tried every flavor of frozen custard at Anderson's and implored me about the existence of Trader Joe's in Buffalo. Needless to say, he fully intends to become an American citizen.

Here are some of the fascinating highlights from the weekend per his commentaries:

Movies worth seeing: 2007's Academy Award nominated "Persepolis." To be honest, on a scale of one to ten, my knowledge of Iran was about a two. This movie bumped it up to at least a four or five. My Iranian friend says it's a fairly accurate portrayal of history (at least the last 40 years or so) in Iran, with many of the current issues presented still holding true today. And no, this movie wasn't shown in Iran.

On enriching uranium: He's not a fan of the current regime, so he was concerned about their ambitions. However, in defense of his homeland he said Iran, like many other countries, had signed the non-proliferation agreement and should be allowed to have nuclear energy, not weapons. His fear, like that of many, is an arms race that could be disastrous if left unchecked.

Persian vs. Farsi: Call the language Persian. He thinks it's weird when you Show-Offs call it Farsi. Why is it not called Iranian? In a nut shell, Iranians have always called their country Iran, but the rest of the world called it Persia for a long time. Once they decided to reassert their namesake, it took so long to get recognition, the language title more or less fell by the wayside. So in English, that means Iranians speak Persian. Not Arabic. It looks like Arabic because it's written with the Arabic alphabet, but just because French is written with the same alphabet as English doesn't make it English.

On the head scarf: Women are forced to wear them in Iran. SallyJaneTourist would even have to wear one. My friend doesn't agree with or like this rule.

On Niagara Falls: Amazing. Simply amazing. It's a shame he can't cross over to the Canadian side without a visa. Everyone knows the view is better...

Is everybody Muslim in Iran?: No. Are lots of people Muslim? Yes. Is my friend? No.

Is alcohol really illegal in Iran?: Yes, think Prohibition and you're on the right track. Has just about everything illegal gone underground under the current regime? Yes.

Do Iranians hate Americans: No, in fact, most Iranians have never met an American and would be very excited to meet AverageJoeTourist. They do, however, vividly recall the air strikes by Saddam and fear potential attacks of that nature.

Was your dad ambassador to America?: "Ambassadors/embassies/consulates are normally only in countries where relations are solid. Thus, there is no Iranian embassy in the USA and no American embassy in Iran." Third world countries have it kind of tough, he said.

Why there aren't tanning salons in India: "In India, there are more skin-lightening creams than there are shampoos for sale at the drug store." He admitted this was a slight exaggeration, but only slightly. Many Indians, he says, like in some other cultures, prize fair skin. He cited actual television commercials where Indians from southern provinces use the creams and exclaim a la American infomercial, "Now I look like I'm from such and such Northern province! (notorious for fairer skinned individuals)." And we thought all the rage was the bronzer the better. Now I find myself smearing on spray-on-tan and exclaiming, "Now I look like I'm from California!" It doesn't have quite the same ring.

The thing about ganache

The other day after having a major craving for chocolate, I decided to try out a pastry shop in the neighborhood. It had been a long, rainy day and I thought it would be a nice pick-me-up.

As I purused the glass window full of yummy pastry goodness, I spotted what looked to be a dark chocolate turtle tart. It just said 'turtle tart' on the card so I asked the man working there if it was dark chocolate or milk chocolate. I didn't think my question was that out of the ordinary, but the man looked at me as if I had just insulted him, the store and his unborn child.

"Milk or dark chocolate?" he repeated.

"Yeah," I giggled uncomfortably, thinking he was making an awkward joke.

"It's ganache." With that it became very evident that he was very serious and that I might as well asked for a Hershey's bar.

"Ok. Ganache. I'll take one of those," I smiled uncomfortably and waited while he pulled my treat.

"There's no such thing as milk chocolate or dark chocolate," he muttered as he packed up the tart. Then he looked right at me and added in his snarkiest voice yet, "someone in Buffalo needs to be educated."

My shock completely shut down my comeback faculties. I replayed what he had just said over in my head, hoping the guy was joking, but there was no turning back.

The man went to ring up my credit card. I turned to my boyfriend, who was only half paying attention to this exchange, and said to him in Spanish, "if the guy wants to educate me, maybe he doesn't have to be such a jerk about it."

I got my tart and got the hell out of there, but not before the snarky clerk got in the last word yet, a mocking and horribly pronounced "hasta luego."

Don't stand between a girl and her chocolate. It's all chocolate. And don't be a snob, I'm the customer. I know what ganache is. I know what milk and dark chocolate are. And believe me, honey, they exist.

I wanted to like you Dolci Bakery on Elmwood, I really did. But that guy was such a schmuck, I vow to never go back and to tell everyone I know how rude the service was.

The thing about studies

Road ragers: apply here.
That's what the ad should have said.

I saw one of those adverts for a study at a local university, no scary trial medicines involved, just driving. How bad can that be? They give you cash for driving. Right? Sounds good.

The woman at the research institute said I had to answer some preliminary questions to qualify for the study itself. After a few minorly invasive questions about my health history and a brief explanation about the nature of the study, the questions started. Actual questions like this:

"Do you ever purposely try to run other drivers off the road?"

From a researcher's perspective, this might be useful knowledge, but from a sheer ethical and moral standpoint, don't you want to do something if someone answers "all the time" or even "sometimes?"

Other questions included:
"How often do you try to get the best of other drivers?"
"How often do you overtake other drivers while passing them in the wrong lane?"
"How often do you get into arguments with other drivers?"
"How often do you swear at other drivers?"

I guess I'm way too mild a driver. I said 'never' so often, by the end I was desperately hoping they were looking for well-adjusted, mild-tempered drivers. Not so.

So. If you often want to "cut off another driver to get even" or "chase another driver," I've got the perfect study for you.

I just hope you don't live in my town.

The thing about pie

Pie Eating Contests have always been one of those things I see on television and watch with a mixture of horror and awe. Similar to a presidential debate or Nathan's Hotdog Eating Contest, perhaps one ponders the idea of participating, but quickly brushes off the idea to consider more likely, tasteful pursuits.

That was my official stance on the country fair pastime, that is, until Saturday.

I spent the morning at The Great Pumpkin Farm, reporting on the 26th Annual World Pumpkin Weigh-Off. More on that later.

The Great Pumpkin Farm in Clarence turns out to be the epitome of all things autumn related. It combines a 4-H fair, an amusement park and excessive pumpkin-themed events to create an All-American Saturday.

I know you're wondering of what I think an All-American Saturday consists:

• Ponies and livestock: check
• Ferris wheel: check
• Overpriced fried food: check
• Candied Apples: check
• Food-eating competitions: check

I stumbled upon the latter, a Pumpkin Pie Eating Contest, while making my way to the corn maze. I told my friends I just wanted to see if it was as interesting in real life as on TV.

I would like to blame it on not having eaten lunch yet, because somehow the slices being set in front of contestants started to look more and more appealing. The ladies passing out the pie sensed my weakness.

"Come on! Try it! If you only eat two pieces of pie, no big deal! It's free!"

This was really all I needed to hear. Pie + Free in the same sentence. Never mind she rattled off the short list of rules quickly thereafter: No hands. Put them behind the back for good measure.

I was all in. Me, and about 20 other folks willing to sacrifice their dignity for some free pumpkin pie.

My approach was not competitive in the least. Leisurely pie eating (without looking like I was just in it for the free pie) we'll call it. I downed 4 pieces in 5 minutes. Not too shabby. The winners knocked out 11 and 10 pieces respectively. Somewhat cruelly, they were forced to do "eat-offs" after ties emerged.

No pie eating contest is complete without pictures........

What an informal eating contest looks like before the eating.

Mhmm. Pie.

The third place winner


The eat off for first and second place

The eat-off for first and second place

The winner proves it.